


Daddy's Here

by witchway



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Alcohol, Angst with a Happy Ending, Eventual Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Trigger Warning: Quentin Beck Exists, Use of the word "Daddy"
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:47:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25794595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/witchway/pseuds/witchway
Relationships: Peter Parker/Tony Stark, Quentin Beck/Peter Parker, Spiderio - Relationship, Starker - Relationship
Comments: 1
Kudos: 44





	1. Problem

The _worst_ part? Peter only took Quen to bed because he _felt so sorry for the guy_. The man seemed so _taken_ with him, so overwhelmed, so infatuated. Peter took pity on the dude – the dude who kept insisting he just couldn’t find anyone who was his intellectual equal… someone who would be happy to lie and talk tech after the lovemaking… but then how did he get _here_? It seemed like just yesterday he was agreeing to the pityfuck. 

And it wasn’t _that_ bad, Quentin DID have eyes to die for. 

And that beard. And that mind (and to be honest that ego) did remind Peter an awful lot of Tony Stark. 

And it was SO VERY CLEAR that Tony Stark was _never_ going to take him to bed. He was an adult now. An official Avenger. A regular visitor to Stark Labs and even Tony’s personal lab. But getting into Tony’s bed? Nope. Never. It was a lost cause.

And when a boy’s heart is broken, well, maybe he can be forgiven for taking a DIFFERENT good-looking man to bed.

Not forever, obviously. For a one-time thing. Okay, maybe a two-time thing. And maybe an okay-just-this-once-in-the-hallway because-right-now-you-are-as-hot-as-fuck and- _please_ -keep-moaning-my-name kind of thing. 

And, okay, maybe there was that time you were riding the subway and the man

was whispering the filthiest things to you on the phone and the sound of his voice was making your whole body break out in goosebumps and you and to face the wall because there was no other way to hide your erection and when you hung up the phone all you could think was “ ** _Damn_** that man can cast spells with his mesmerizing voice.” Maybe it was like that.

But it was just fucking, nothing more. Because Quen had looked so smitten. And those _eyes_ … well, Peter had started to feel sorry for the guy.

Then in a flash entire months had passed and now _Peter_ was begging _Quentin_ not to leave him…wait…how did that work??

Because the hard truth was Quentin _did_ need to leave. They needed to leave each other. This friendship needed to end. 

First, because Quen didn’t know about Spider-Man. Couldn’t know about Spider-Man. And keeping his dates in the dark about Spider-Man always got to be a chore in the end, Which meant soon he would have to stop dating Quentin Beck.

And second, because Quentin was supposed to be starting up his own tech company… but thing was… he was just _too_ damn interested in Stark Tech. More than was healthy (I mean really, the man was obsessed.) And Peter was tired of constantly giving cagey answers or playing ignorant. No matter how pissed off he was at Tony Stark (dammit, _why_ couldn’t his fellow Avenger see him _as an adult??_ He was nearly 22!) Peter wasn’t going to give away his tech secrets, obviously.

And could we all just sit back and admire the irony of it all? Originally, he was only attracted to Quen because the dude reminded him _so much_ of Tony. That mind. That ego. That beard. And Peter figured, if he was _never_ getting Tony Stark into bed, **_why_** not some other good-looking guy? 

But no more. Peter still looked forward to seeing Tony (which he didn’t often, but when he did, he still got that little thrill in the pit of his stomach.) Now when he saw Quentin? Peter just felt his stomach tighten.

And while the sex was hot at night (feeling Quen’s beard on the backs of his thighs was a little short of paradise) dating Quentin by day was getting old fast. How many times did Peter need to hear how much his smooth, practically-hairless body still looked like a 15-year-old? It wasn’t his fault his body had stopped aging after the spiderbite! And if he had to hear one more explanation about how they _had_ to do it in the dark because with the lights on Quentin felt like a damn pedophile…

(And Peter would never admit he _liked_ doing in it in the dark. In the dark he could pretend Quen was Tony.)

But his crush on Tony Stark seemed stupider by the day. If _Quentin_ only 10 years older than him _, and_ could barely stand to be seen in public with him (because he made Quentin feel like a pedophile! Don’t forget! Quen is doing you a favor!) then why did Peter _ever_ think he stood a chance with Tony??

But it was more than that… a lot more than that. Lately, Peter really felt like he was losing his damn mind. And there was no one, absolutely no one, to talk to about it.

In the morning Peter would wake up, certain that this is it. Today is the day. Today he will give Quen the boot (nicely of course.) Because dammit all these questions Quentin keeps asking him about Stark Industries are feeling less and less like Regular Boyfriend Interest and more like Corporate Espionage. (Not to mention the part where, if he actually acknowledged the part where he KNEW the answer and GAVE it, it WOULD be Corporate Espionage!) 

Then by day Peter has to Not See Tony Stark (except when he DOES get to see Tony Stark and THEN he has to Flirt Harmlessly With Tony Because That’s What Tony Does) and thus by evening Peter was longing to give up and sink into Quentin’s arms. Longed to be held and to be kissed and to be fucked like an adult male. Wanted to pretend that he was a normal 22 year old man that _someone, **somewhere**_ actually _wanted_ to date.

And Quentin was good for that. Good for light and playful and wresting on the floor that turned into Peter’s heels up around Quentin’s ears and Quentin moving inside him with long deliberate strokes, his soulful eyes staring deeply into Peter’s eyes. Or good for a hot, grasping panting fuck against the wall with Peter’s erection thrusting helplessly into Quen’s skillful hand and Quen’s beard scraping against his neck while whispering Peter’s name…

But no matter how good the sex is, the sex has to end.

And when the sex ends, the fight starts.

And the fight can’t be avoided. Quentin is asking for too much. Peter is saying no too often. Then Peter is reminded that Quen is doing him a HUGE favor dating his hairless, looks-like-you-haven’t-even-finished-puberty weirdo mutant body and Peter gets dressed and leaves making lists all the way home of things he can do better, desperately hoping that Quentin WONT leave him and _wait didn’t he wake up this morning determined to break the whole thing off??_

And then one day it just happens. 

Peter couldn’t even say _how_ it happened. Couldn’t say exactly how the switch turned off, or when. Maybe it was when Quentin flat-out **_demanded_** Peter bring him some Stark tech to “prove himself.” Maybe it was the 100th time Quentin pointed out how immature Peter was being how Quen should have known that Peter was too young for this relationship. Maybe it was because the sex wasn’t even over yet, had barely gotten started, and the fight was already in progress. But somewhere in the lecture about how it was time for Peter to grow up and prove that their relationship was “real” that Peter realized their relationship was over.

“I’m going to do you a HUGE favor,” he said calmly. It was _surreal_ , how very calm he felt right now. Especially when he had felt like he had spent the whole week in near-meltdown. 

“I’m going to do you the biggest favor anyone has ever done for you, Quen,” he said calmly as he put his pants back on, and then his shoes. “This favor is going to be legendary. They’re going to write fanfic about this favor. This favor is going to be _epic_.

“You’re ashamed to be seen with me in public?” Peter said, tying one shoe and then the other. “It’s so hard to have sex with me looking at my underdeveloped body? My lack of body hair is _suuuuuch_ a big turn-off? I’m going to make your life easier. _I’ll leave._ And you’re welcome.”

It was an incredible sensation, grabbing his backpack and knowing he meant it. Later he’d be pissed, later he would be filled with self-doubt, later he question every little bit of his self-worth. But right now the smile on his face was of genuine relief. How had he not realized it before? It seemed so obvious to him now.

Quentin scoffed, of course. Then insulted. Then ranted. Then threatened. Peter could almost smell his panic… which made him feel all the more serene. _How_ had he not seen it before? It was like seeing the answer to the puzzle all at once, like the anagram that solves itself. Quentin was actually _sputtering_ behind him as he went out the door and headed down the stairs.

“Where are you _going_ , Parker?” he managed finally. “Off to moon over Tony Stark?”

“Sure, why not?” Peter shot back carelessly, determined to remain unabashed.

“And what happens when I tell him about _Bad-_ _Name Alicorn_?”

Peter pulled up short. If he were a less graceful person, he would have stumbled on the step. The name was much a random, specific noun it sounded like a safeword. But it _wasn’t_ a safeword, it was a…”

“Wait… what?” He started to turn his head, but resisted the urge. Tried to look more bored than baffled. But his spidersenses were tingling now. It wasn’t the fact that Quentin knew the name of a random program-in-progress at Stark Tech. That wasn’t it. It was the cold smile Peter could hear in Quentin’s voice without even turning around.

“I said… what will Tony Stark say…” Peter could _hear_ the man stepping dramatically into the hallway and leaning upon the banister, trying to find a striking pose. “…when I tell him how you leaked to my company with the plans of _Bad-Name Alicorn_ project?” 

“I never told you anything about _Bad-Name Alicorn_.” Peter said firmly. Dammit, he wasn’t doing THIS again, wasn’t doing this thing with Quentin where Quen made bold statements redefining reality and then stuck to them so firmly Peter found himself doubting reality itself…

“But _you_ know what it is.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. What kind of name for a project is _Bad-Name_ … what the hell is an _Alicorn_ anyway…” Peter said, fighting to keep fear out of his voice. He knew exactly what _Bad-Name Alicorn_ was, and why his team had named it so randomly to distract from its purpose. The name was created as an anagram of the team leader’s name. Peter also knew the project was likely to be abandoned because Pepper Potts was already speaking in “but-what-if-it-was-weaponized”eez.

“It’s a high-tech tracking device that if, should the specs be altered a bit, could potentially be an incredible surveillance toy. And I have the specs…” There it was, that casual, devil-may-care tone voice. Peter refused to turn around to look at the devilish eyes that always accompanied it. “Don’t you think it would be a pity if I had to tell Tony Stark I got them from _you_.” 

“I think…” Peter tried to play it casual too. Tried to copy Quentin’s tone of voice. “I think you’re the one obsessed with Tony Stark. And if that’s the best opening line you’ve got? _Go for it._ Text me and let me know if you score…” He continued his decent down the long staircase.

“So that’s _it?!_ You’re just going to walk away?” Quentin sputtered and Peter tried to suppress a smile. It wasn’t often you saw the real Quentin Beck emerge from behind the mask, but dammit, he _was_ down under there somewhere.

“Are you really going to walk down the stairs or would you rather websling out the window?”


	2. Solution

He did, in fact. Websling. He webslung straight to Stark Tower.

He signaled ahead to let Tony know he was coming, but couldn’t explain 

anymore. Wasn’t able to say anymore. Couldn’t hear his own words over the blood pounding in his ears. 

Behind him he had left Quentin with a date at 8:00 pm at their favorite restaurant. A date in which they would sit down and talk about how their relationship had to change. Because blackmail or no blackmail, their relationship had to change. “But we can be adults about this, Quen. You’re _so_ very adult you can be adult enough for _both_ of us. Eight o’clock. Don’t be late. 

“Stand me up and the deal is off,” he stated finally. He had decided at that moment that quoting a few Quentin-sounding lines would work in his favor. He was sure Quentin had something to say about it, but what it was he never heard. By then had leapt from the staircase to the ground floor and somersaulted out the door.

And if that worked, it meant he had 24 hours. Twenty four hours to do… something. What, he didn’t know. That’s why he needed Tony.

He found Tony in his penthouse, pouring himself a glass of wine at the bar. That wasn’t unusual. The was wearing a silk bathrobe and his boxers, which was also not unusual. What was unusual was the fact that he didn’t bother leaving the room to change. Or even close his bathrobe.

He was also drunk, which _was_ unusual.

“Is… this… is this a bad time?”

“This is the perfect time, kid, why…? Oh, you don’t know. Because we saw each other this morning, don’t you remember? And now I’m busy… I’m busy drinking my cares away.”

“What… what are…”

“What are my cares? Oh I’m never going to tell you. But there are _a lot_ of them, and that’s why I need another drink. Care to join me?” 

He got out another wineglass. He filled it too. But then he forgot about it and left them both on the bar. All the time saying something in a singsong voice about getting over a broken heart.

He turned when he heard Peter sob.

“Whatsmatter baby?” he asked, his face filled with genuine concern.

“I screwed up,” Peter managed, trying to keep his voice from shaking. “I screwed up and I’m in a lot of trouble Tony…” That was as far as he got. He didn’t have to say anymore.

He couldn’t say anymore.

He was too confused to speak. Too confused because he was being held in Tony’s arms, being pressed against Tony’s chest (and his erection? Wait, _what_?) and the man was rocking him back and forth, murmuring “I’m here, baby. I’m here.”

“Um… Tony?” Peter managed, as he tried to wrap his brain around the fact that Tony was _stroking his hair_. “I don’t… I can’t…”

“It’s okay, sweet baby. Daddy’s here.”

It was strange, and yet it seemed familiar somehow, and Peter gave himself a moment to notice that his head fit perfectly into the crook of Tony’s neck and Tony’s hands fit perfectly in the small of his back. 

But when Tony started kissing the tears from his face he had to stop and take stock. This was clearly not going in the direction Peter had anticipated. It would be all his dreams come true, but none of his dreams involved _such_ a strong smell of scotch…

“You’re…really drunk Tony…” Peter stammered. He found himself one step beyond confused. He should _probably_ be putting a stop to it all, although he couldn’t remember why just now, and he tried to puzzle it out even as he (helplessly!) nuzzled his face against Tony’s beard.

Good lord, he had dreamed about THAT for so very very long.

“Of course I’m drunk,” Tony whispered against his face. “If I wasn’t drunk, I wouldn’t be able to do this…”

He kissed Peter on the mouth. Peter could’t really protest because Tony’s tongue was keeping him busy.

He could have given up just then, could have _completely_ relaxed and enjoyed this dream-come-true… until Tony’s hand wandered up to his chest and tried to push the button to disengage his suit.

Panicked, Peter stiffed and jerked away. Getting _naked_ with Tony would only complicated things a thousandfold…

“I can’t… I shouldn’t… I should probably tell you what I did before you do that…”

“Baby there’s nothing you could ever do that would _ever_ make me stop loving you.”

Peter’s eyes went wide, as did his mouth, and he stood staring helplessly as Tony kissed his face.

“I’m old,” he was crooning. “…and broken and deeply ugly inside, and you could do so much better than me, and you _have_ done so much better that me. 

“But I love you,” he said, pulling back enough to look Peter in the eye. “… and nothing, _nothing_ you’ll ever do can change that.”

He kissed Peter then (kind of awkward because Peter’s jaw was still hanging open) and continued to kiss him until Peter stepped backward, stepping out of Tony’s arms.

He shook his head. He swallowed hard.

“Ok.” 

He looked into Tony’s face.

“So you’re ‘old and broken and ugly inside’ and I’m in a lot of trouble _and_ beyond stupid _and_ a basket case _and_ probably losing my mind _and_ stuck in a perpetually 15-year-old body for the rest of my life,” he whispered, taking Tony’s face in both hands and looking him straight in the eyes. 

“Let’s see what we can do with that.”


End file.
